


Every Mother's Child

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Feels, M/M, Pre-Slash, Referenced Canonical Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13099863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: “Barba, would you just spit it out?” Carisi asked patiently.Barba looked borderline panicked as he blurted, “Will you have Christmas dinner with my mother and me?”Carisi was pretty sure his mouth dropped open in surprise. Wherever he had thought Barba might be headed with this, it was not there. “Well, sure—” he started, but Barba cut him off, if possible looking even more distressed than before.“To be clear, you’d be — well, you’d be posing as my date.”





	Every Mother's Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bourgeois](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bourgeois/gifts).



> For chickcheney — this probably isn't exactly what you were looking for, but hopefully you enjoy nonetheless!! Merry Chirstmas!!
> 
> Set during Season 17 because peak Barisi.
> 
> Thanks to AHF for the beta.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Carisi hesitated before knocking on Barba’s door. Under normal circumstances, he leapt at the chance to bring Barba a file or really any other excuse he could to visit the ADA, but the past few days had not been normal circumstances.

Barba had been particularly irascible of recent, though Carisi seemed to be the only one who noticed. “You mean it’s possible for him to be even _crankier_ than usual?” Rollins had asked, amused, when Carisi had asked her if she’d noticed anything.

But it was possible. Ever since the Lewis Hodda trial — no, that wasn’t quite right, Carisi realized, still poised to knock on Barba’s door. Barba’s bad mood had started after the trial had already been wrapped for a few weeks. After Thanksgiving, in fact, since Carisi distinctly remembered Barba being almost sincere when he wished Carisi a happy Thanksgiving. Which didn’t necessarily mean the trial and Barba’s bad mood weren’t linked, but it did imply the possibility of other causes.

And Carisi, self-preservation be damned, was determined to figure out exactly what was bothering him.

He finally knocked on the door and poked his head inside Barba’s office without waiting for permission. “Did I miss the part where I gave you permission to come into my office?” Barba asked without looking up from the pad of paper he was scribbling notes on.

“No, but I figured what with my winning personality and charming smile, you’d let it slide,” Carisi said, stepping into his office.

Barba finally glanced up at him, unamused. “You thought wrong,” he said dismissively. “Whatever fresh hell you’ve come to deliver, leave it on my desk. I’ll deal with it later.”

“I see you’re filled with holiday spirit,” Carisi said jokingly, setting the file down on Barba’s desk.

Barba spared him a withering glance. “Let me guess, you love Christmas and are just _brimming_ with Christmas cheer,” he said, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Carisi shrugged. “I mean, I don’t hate the holiday, but I prefer Thanksgiving. It’s not a holy day of obligation, after all.”

A smile almost flickered at the corners of Barba’s mouth before it was swallowed by his scowl. “Well, good for you,” he sniped. “Some of us have other Christmas obligations we have to deal with besides the completely voluntary ones inflicted on us by religion.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Carisi said mildly. “So are your Christmas obligations the source of the bug up your ass, or…?”

Barba looked affronted. “I do _not_ have a bug up my ass,” he snapped, before realizing that his response really only confirmed what he was trying to deny. “In any case,” he huffed, turning rather deliberately back to the file on his desk, “I’ll let you see yourself out, Detective.”

It was a dismissal if ever Carisi had heard one, and if he was a wiser man, he might’ve heeded it. Instead, he perched on the edge of Barba’s desk, ignoring the glare that Barba gave him. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

At first, it looked like Barba might blow him off, which was frankly what Carisi expected. But then he paused, something like desperation flaring in his expression. “Actually, there is something, though there’s no way you would want to do it.” He sagged in his chair and ran a hand across his face. “I mean, you have your own family to spend the holidays with, and—”

“Barba, would you just spit it out?” Carisi asked patiently.

Barba looked borderline panicked as he blurted, “Will you have Christmas dinner with my mother and me?”

Carisi was pretty sure his mouth dropped open in surprise. Wherever he had thought Barba might be headed with this, it was not there. “Well, sure—” he started, but Barba cut him off, if possible looking even more distressed than before.

“To be clear, you’d be — well, you’d be posing as my date.”

Carisi froze. His mouth was definitely hanging open in shock now as he gaped at Barba. “Oh,” he said, a long enough moment later to make it completely awkward. “Uh...why?”

Barba sighed and slumped back in his chair. “It’s our first Christmas without my grandmother,” he muttered, almost more to himself than to Carisi, who felt a pang of sympathy at Barba’s words. “She used to always host Christmas, and this year, my mother is insisting on still having Christmas. And she—” He broke off, shaking his head. “My mother is a great many things, but festive and a good hostess under the best of circumstances is not one of them. So I want to make Christmas as stress-free for her as possible.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Carisi said slowly, “You bringing an extra person to Christmas would make things... _less_ stressful.”

Doubt hung heavily in his voice, but Barba just waved a dismissive hand. “I mean, I know it doesn’t sound like it,” he said with a sigh. “But — my mother...she worries. About me. And my…” He sighed again before continuing grimly, “My love life. Or lack thereof.”

“She’s your ma,” Carisi said, with a sympathetic smile. “It’s her job to worry.”

“I know that,” Barba said impatiently. “But this year, with everything else — I’m the last person that she needs to be worrying about.”

Carisi was surprisingly touched by that, by the thought of Barba worrying about his mother worrying about him. And even though he had plans for Christmas day to spend the holiday with his sister Bella and his niece, he nonetheless couldn’t help but say bracingly, “Well, luckily for you, my family celebrates the Feast of Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve, so I’m free on Christmas Day.” It was Barba’s turn to gape at him, as if he had never in a million years expected Carisi to agree to this, and Carisi hesitated before asking, “Are you sure you want me to be the one to do this, though?”

Barba smirked, though he looked a little too relieved for it to be wholly genuine. “If I had literally anyone else to ask, Detective…”

Carisi laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure you already would’ve asked ‘em.” He shrugged, feeling suddenly unsure of where to go from there. “Anyway, uh, text me the details, I guess?”

“I will,” Barba said, and Carisi nodded and turned to go, but paused when Barba cleared his throat. “And thank you, Carisi.”

Carisi shrugged again and smiled almost nervously at Barba. “Hey, we’re friends — or something like that. Consider this your Christmas gift.”

“Does this mean I’m not going to be regifted whatever unwanted item of winterwear your sisters get you this year?” Barba asked wryly.

Carisi blushed. “It wasn’t a regift!” he insisted. “I mean, it was, but you were about to walk five blocks without a hat or gloves or anything, so you needed a scarf and I already have, like, four of them. Besides, at this rate you’ll catch your death one of these days.”

“God, maybe putting you and my mother in the same room is a mistake,” Barba sighed, but he was smiling, just slightly, and Carisi grinned at him.

“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Barba just groaned in response and Carisi chuckled as he left, pulling his phone out once he was away from Barba’s office to call his sister. “Hey Bells, sorry, I have to cancel on Christmas,” he said, pushing the button for the elevator. “I know, I know, but something came up.” He debated telling her the actual reason, but figured it opened a can of worms he would much rather stay sealed, and settled for telling her, “Nah, it’s a work thing.”

Then again, he supposed as the elevator doors slid closed, that really wasn’t that far off from the truth.

* * *

 

Barba had instructed Carisi to meet him a block away from Lucia Barba’s apartment building in the Bronx, and Carisi felt like something out of a bad spy movie as he skulked awkwardly in front of a closed bodega. “Please don’t tell me those are for me,” Barba said, sounding particularly dismayed as he joined Carisi.

Carisi glanced down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand and rolled his eyes. “They’re for your ma,” he said. “That’s what you’re supposed to do when you meet your _boyfriend’s_ mother, after all.”

It was Barba’s turn to roll his eyes, and he huffed a sigh. “Let’s just get this over with,” he said before grabbing Carisi’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

Carisi really wished that such a simple gesture wasn’t enough to render him speechless but he settled for clearing his throat, ducking his head to hide his blush, and letting Barba lead him down the street.

Only when they got to Lucia’s apartment and Barba’s mom had answered the door did Barba finally drop Carisi’s hand, stepping forward to kiss Lucia’s cheek. “Feliz Navidad, Mami,” he said, before stepping back and gesturing towards Carisi. “This is Det. Dominick Carisi, Jr.”

“Call me Sonny,” Carisi said automatically, holding his hand out for Lucia to shake before holding out the bouquet of flowers. “I brought these for you.”

Lucia raised an eyebrow, just slightly, and had a similar look on her face that Barba had worn when Carisi had first introduced himself, as if there were no circumstances under which she would ever even consider calling him Sonny. “Thank you, Det. Carisi,” she said, her tone inscrutable. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She glanced sideways at her son. “Though not recently.”

Barba rolled his eyes and Carisi glanced between the two of them, uncomfortable in the knowledge that some secondary conversation to which he was not privy was going on. “Right,” he said. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Barba — may I call you Lucia?”

“Handsome and polite to boot,” Lucia mused, something sharp in her smile. “Rafi, how did you _possibly_ pull this off?”

“Luck, I guess,” Barba said, a touch moodily. “I’m going to get something to drink. Sonny?”

It took Carisi a moment to realize that Barba was talking to him, and a moment longer to realize that he was asking if he wanted anything to drink. “Oh,” he said, blushing slightly, well aware that Lucia was still watching him like a hawk. “Uh. Sure. Whatever. You know what I like.”

Barba looked like he only barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes as he headed into the kitchen, and Carisi glanced nervously back at Lucia, whose smile had widened dangerously. “You know,” she said gesturing for Carisi to follow her into the living room, “Rafael and I are quite close. He’s told me all about his colleagues at Manhattan SVU, including yourself. I believe you had a horrible mustache once upon a time?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “But about, oh, a week or two ago, he abruptly stopped mentioning you. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Uh,” Carisi said, glancing toward the kitchen in hopes that Barba might rescue him from this conversation.

For once, Carisi’s luck seemed to hold. “Mami, where's the wine?” Barba called from the kitchen.

If Carisi wasn't mistaken, Lucia actually smirked a little before calling back innocently, “I don't think I have any.” Barba poked his head out of the kitchen to stare at her and she shrugged. “I just assumed you'd be bringing some wine, as it _is_ customary to bring a gift for the hostess and your charming boyfriend brought me flowers.”

Barba’s expression turned downright murderous as he stepped out of the kitchen. “You really don't have any wine?” he asked.

“No, but you can run to the bodega and pick some up,” Lucia told him sweetly. “I'm sure you remember where it is.”

Without sparing a second glance at Carisi, without even stopping to realize that he was abandoning Carisi in the lion’s den where there was no way Carisi could keep this ruse up all on his lonesome, Barba muttered something in Spanish under his breath before grabbing his mother’s keys and leaving. Lucia waited until the door slammed after him before turning to Carisi, a terrible smile affixed to her face. “Well. Now that we’ve gotten rid of Rafi for a few minutes at least, what do you say you and I have a chat, Detective?”

Carisi could think of about eight thousand things he’d much rather do, and he prayed that his phone would ring and he'd get called into work.

His luck, it seemed, had run out.

“My son thinks I’m stupid,” Lucia told him, something conspiratorial in her tone. “He thinks that I won’t find it at all suspicious that he’s bringing someone for Christmas that he’s never once mentioned dating.” She raised an eyebrow at Carisi. “So how much is he paying you?”

Carisi gaped at her. “How — what?” he said weakly.

“Do _you_ think that I’m stupid, Det. Carisi?” Lucia’s voice was light, friendly even, but Carisi felt chilled down to his bones. Barba’s mom had never looked and sounded more like her son than in that moment, and the thought terrified him. He shook his head mutely. “Then answer the question.”

“He’s not paying me anything,” Carisi said honestly.

Lucia looked surprised for a brief moment before her expression turned calculating. “But you’re still not actually dating my son.” Carisi hesitated before slowly shaking his head, and Lucia sat back, looking equal parts satisfied and intrigued. “So you agreed to pretend to be dating my son — why?”

Carisi shrugged, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “He asked me to,” he said, a little hoarsely.

Lucia’s eyes narrowed. “And do you routinely help your colleagues deceive their mothers?”

“First of all, clearly Barba and I didn't deceive you for a second,” Carisi said bluntly, and Lucia laughed, something almost surprised in her expression. “Second of all…” He hesitated. “As a bit of a mama’s boy myself, I think his heart was in the right place.”

“Do you,” Lucia said, something dangerous in her tone.

“Yeah,” Carisi said. “I do.” He shrugged. “He didn't want you to worry about him, especially this year, with your ma having passed and all.”

Something tightened in Lucia’s expression. “He is my son,” she said. “I’ll worry about him whenever and however I please.”

Carisi held up his hands defensively. “In my defense, I more or less told him that,” he said. “But you know how he is. Once he gets an idea in his head…”

“It’s impossible to make him forget it,” Lucia murmured, her face softening. “He gets that from his grandmother. She was a stubborn woman.  Always had been, not that she'd ever admit it — not that Rafi would either.”

“I think he misses her,” Carisi said softly, which was as much as he was willing to speculate about Barba, who was a notoriously private person. “And I think he thought it would be easier on both of you if it wasn't just the two of you for Christmas.”

Lucia nodded, slowly. “Maybe he was right,” she admitted, equally soft, before giving Carisi a tentative smile. “Thank you, Detective. I appreciate you sacrificing your holiday for Rafi. For us.”

“It really wasn't any trouble,” Carisi assured her. “Bar—uh, that is, Rafael’s a friend. And I try to help my friends when I can.”

Something shrewd crossed Lucia’s expression. “Especially when you hope to be more than friends,” she said casually.

Carisi nodded, then froze, horrified. “Uh, that is—shit.”

Lucia laughed at the look on his face. “Don't worry, I’m certainly not going to tell Rafael about this little conversation. Though you may want to, as I'm fairly certain he feels the same.”

Carisi gaped at her. “How—” he croaked, and she shrugged.

“He stopped talking about you,” she said simply. “If there’s one thing my son does not lack, it’s the ability to talk about absolutely anything or anyone for as long as he needs to. Unless, of course, there are emotions involved. Even when he was in high school, I always knew who he liked because he wouldn't say anything about them. As if I might somehow guess if he did — not knowing, of course, how much easier he made it for me by keeping his gifted mouth shut.”

Though Carisi nodded, he was still trying to wrap his mind around what she was suggesting. “Maybe he was just trying to keep the ruse going?” he offered weakly.

Lucia raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s possible,” she acknowledged generously. “Except that he stopped talking about you well before he told me you were coming to Christmas dinner.”

Carisi was completely at a loss for what to say to that, but luckily — or unluckily, Carisi genuinely couldn't decide — they were interrupted by Barba, lugging in enough wine to make an army stagger in their formation.

Carisi practically leapt to his feet to help, though mostly to get away from Lucia, who was smirking in a far too self-satisfied fashion for his liking. “Here, let me,” he muttered to Barba, grabbing the paper bag and carrying it into the kitchen.

Barba followed, amused. “Ten minutes alone with my mother and you look like you're facing the gallows,” he commented, getting out a corkscrew and handing it to Carisi. “What in the world did she say to you?”

“Nothing,” Carisi said, a little too roughly, and he poured himself more wine than he normally would have, in desperate hopes of steadying his nerves. “Just, uh, I'm worried she saw right through me.”

Because she had.

Not that Carisi was going to tell Barba that.

Though Barba raised an eyebrow, he didn't comment, instead pouring himself a glass of wine and clinking it lightly against Carisi’s. “Well,” he said, “Let's hope not.”

* * *

 

Carisi had hoped that with Barba’s return, the conversation might head in a vastly different direction, sparing both him and his dignity, but his hopes were dashed almost immediately.

All throughout dinner, Lucia fussed over Carisi as if he was actually dating Barba, asking him question after question about his family and his background and practically every facet of his life.

“You better hold on to this one,” she told Barba, pointing at Carisi with her fork. “He's a catch. Don’t talk to him too much or you’ll scare him off.”

Carisi contemplated crawling under the table and dying, but to his surprise, Barba just laughed lightly and gave Carisi a small, furtive look that was impossible to read. “Oh, I know,” he said.  “I’m doing my best.”

In fact, as the interrogation faded into something more genial, Carisi couldn't help but notice that Barba was looking at him with something almost like newfound appreciation, and he couldn't help the swell of something that he refused to give name to that rose in his chest.

After dinner, they all made their way back to the living room, topped off glasses of wine in hand. Barba sat next to Carisi on the couch, and Carisi tried not to lean in too close or do anything that suggested something more than what there actually was between them - which, to be fair, wasn’t much at that point but it was all he had.

Not that it mattered. Barba scooted closer to him, their shoulders bumping together. Then, abruptly, he said, “This is the part of the evening where if abuelita were here, she'd’ve put on one of those horrendous Christmas albums of hers.”

Lucia laughed lightly and shook her head. “What was it last year? The Beach Boys or something, wasn't it?”

“Something atrocious,” Barba agreed. He glanced at Sonny. “My grandmother almost always played Cuban music, the records she had from when she was younger. But not at Christmastime.”

“Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Andy Williams…” Lucia sighed and shook her head, torn between wistful and despairing. “She loved them all.”

Barba laughed lightly. “Remember that year when I was, what, eight? Nine? And she dressed up like Santa Claus?”

“That was because your father told her you were too old for Santa Claus,” Lucia said, smiling slightly at the memory. “And she was not going to give him the satisfaction of getting the last word.” She raised an eyebrow at Barba. “Yet another trait you share.”

The stories continued from there, and Carisi had the feeling that had it just been Barba and his mother, each story would have been a much more melancholy rebelling. Instead, there was a lot of laughter, even if half the stories Carisi had no context for and couldn't quite understand.

“I wish I could've met her,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes after a particularly hilarious story about Sra. Diaz telling the local parish priest what he could go do to himself. “She had to have been an extraordinary woman to raise such an amazing daughter and grandson.”

“She was,” Lucia said, leaning forward to pat Carisi’s hand. “She would've liked you, I know it.”

“She really would've,” Barba murmured, a fond sort of smile on his face. “And then never would've let me hear the end of it.”

There was just a little too much truth in Barba’s tone and for the first time all evening, Carisi felt like he intruding on something private, something not really meant for him. He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. “I, uh, I hate to break up the evening—” he started awkwardly.

Lucia glanced at the clock, her eyes widening in surprise. “Where did the time go?” she asked, getting to her feet. “Here, let me get you both some leftovers to take home.”

Ignoring both Carisi and Barba’s protestations, Lucia loaded them up with a bag of leftovers each before hugging and kissing her son and then, to Carisi’s surprise, hugging and kissing him as well. As Lucia pressed a kiss to his cheek, she murmured so that only he could hear, “I hope to see you again next Christmas, Detective. And many more to come.”

It was little surprise that Carisi’s face was bright red when she let him go finally, and he gave her an awkward sort of wave before following Barba outside.

Once they were out on the street, Barba gave Carisi a curious glance. “Dare I ask what all that was about?” he asked, sounding amused.

Carisi shrugged. “Ah, you know,” he said dismissively, before throwing caution to the wind. “She was just telling me how she wouldn’t mind having me as a son-in law.”

His tone was clearly joking, and Barba rolled his eyes accordingly, but his expression was calculating, and so much like his mother’s earlier in the evening that the resemblance was almost uncanny. “Well,” he murmured, so quietly that Carisi could barely hear, “that’s certainly a thought.”

Barba hesitated before offering Carisi his hand to shake. “Thank you again, Detective. Christmas this year was…” He trailed off, clearly searching for the right word. “Not nearly as unbearable as I thought it would be, and I know you had a lot to do with making it so.”

“It was my pleasure,” Carisi assured him, meaning it far more than Barba probably realized. He shook Barba’s hand but couldn’t help but lean in and kiss his cheek, just in a friendly sort of way. “Merry Christmas, Rafael.”

Barba’s smile was soft as he looked at Carisi, soft in a way that was not remotely strictly friendly. “Merry Christmas, Sonny.”

For a moment, they both just looked at each other, still gripping the other’s hand, and Carisi almost leaned in, almost closed the space between them, but then Barba’s Lyft honked at them from the side of the street.

Perhaps Carisi was only imagining it, but he was pretty sure Barba actually looked a little disappointed. “Get home safe, Detective,” he said, squeezing Carisi’s hand once more before letting go.

“You too,” Carisi told him.

He took a step back and watched as Barba got in the car, lifting his hand to wave goodbye when Barba turned, his expression unreadable.

Then Barba was gone, and Carisi let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding.

He walked slowly down the street, a smile stealing across his face as he thought back on the evening, something close to contentment washing over him, even if nothing had happened between them.

He had an entire year until next Christmas, after all.

And a lot could happen in a year.


End file.
